


Now or Later

by dorwinionwhining



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Post-Sirion, difficult conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorwinionwhining/pseuds/dorwinionwhining
Summary: A minor incident sparks yet another round of the argument Maedhros and Maglor have been engaged in since they spirited Elwing's children from the ruins of Sirion.





	Now or Later

**Author's Note:**

> I was hoping to expand this into a longer piece but wasn't quite sure where to go with it, so I've decided to post it as it is. If you enjoy it please click the kudos button or leave a comment. I'm out of practice writing fanfic and could use the encouragement. Thank you!

"It is not his fault that he is afraid," Maglor insisted, dabbing blood away from several of the deepest tooth marks.

"No," Maedhros agreed scathingly. "It is yours."

Maglor glared at him.

He held his gaze, and after some moments Maglor glanced aside, spots of color visible high on his cheeks. 

"I am attempting to do the right thing," he said, in a noble tone of voice that hadn't suited him in decades.

"Perhaps you should try explaining that to him then," Maedhros said.

"You are being hardly less ridiculous than I am in your lecturing, brother." Maglor still refused to meet his eyes, but there was a satin soft thread of truth laced through his words that prickled the skin of Maedhros’s forearms. 

"I am not lecturing," he lied. 

Maglor did look at him at that, skeptically raising both eyebrows as he reached for a square of bandaging and a roll of gauze. Before too long he had the bite neatly covered, and the silence between them had grown uncomfortably stale. 

"It was you who first took them as hostages," Maglor said suddenly.

"And I would keep them as hostages."

"They are the princes of two royal houses, and they are our family, besides. Shall I leave them to languish under the care of our quartermaster?" He leaned forward over the table. 

Maedhros leaned back in return, maintaining the distance between them. "You have no right to claim them as family."

"I have every right," Maglor insisted, and the strength of his voice made it so that Maedhros almost conceded before logic reasserted itself, and he frowned harshly.

Maglor matched him expression for expression and continued, "No matter what deeds now stand between the branches of the house of Finwë, we are family as much as we ever were in Tirion long ago. To deny that is cowardice, Maedhros!"

Maedhros bristled. "You speak in order to assuage your own guilt."

The color returned to Maglor’s cheeks, but this time he did not turn away. "There is more at stake here than my selfishness."

"But you are selfish nonetheless," Maedhros drove home bitterly.

Maglor stood abruptly.

"Yes, I am," he declared, lips pulled back from his teeth in anger. "But my selfishness in this matter is no less than yours, and at least it is kinder! What good will it do to bring them up in cold and threatening indifference? For bring them up we shall, whether as hostages or fosterlings."

Maedhros tilted his chin back. "It will hurt them less, in the end, to continue believing we are nothing but monsters."

Maglor froze. The color drained from his face, and Maedhros stared into his eyes which shimmered all at once like wet glass on a sunlit winter morning. Visibly torn between rage and grief, Maglor turned his back and stalked from the room.

Maedhros watched him depart, unmoved.


End file.
